


honey and venom

by Morte_Sangriz



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Drabble Series, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Jealousy, Love Triangle route, Pining, Self-Worth Issues, Y'all are evil for hurting Adam like this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:08:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24335647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morte_Sangriz/pseuds/Morte_Sangriz
Summary: Adam du Mortain is good at many things.Knowing his own feelings, unfortunately, is not one of them.(Also known as: that drabble series where Adam pines for the Detective.)
Relationships: Detective/ Adam du Mortain/ Nathaniel "Nate" Sewell, Detective/Adam du Mortain, Detective/Nathaniel "Nate" Sewell
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	honey and venom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beingqueer24_7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beingqueer24_7/gifts).



* * *

**amor et melle et felle est fecundissimus**   
_love is rich with both honey and venom_

* * *

Sometimes when he dreams, it is of the two of them. 

Not of himself and the Detective, no, his dreams are scarcely ever so kind to him to gift him with such a thing- but instead of Detective and… Nate. 

He dreams of the moments they may share when they are together, alone; when they are together and away from where he can see the two of them. He dreams of gentle touches, of soft smiles, of warm laughter- of the things they can share together that he oftentimes finds himself incapable of doing. Not because he doesn’t think the Detective deserves such things, but because it is not in his nature to be soft. 

Adam is not a soft person. 

He is not the kind of man to whisper poetry like it is a hymn that follows the divine steps that the Detective takes. He is not the kind of man that can express reverence with his touch in the same way it is so easy to destroy the things he lays hands on, things more often crumble under his fingers than bloom like he wishes they do. 

In these dreams he feels sick to his stomach in a way he is unused to- in a way he hasn’t felt in a very long time. He has lived through war, through plague, through famine. He has lived through the crowning of monarchs and the slaying of kings. He has lived through centuries of the world changing around him, of science taking the place of religion- of technology becoming humanity’s new god and things he had known as truth becoming nothing more than legends.

And yet, he doesn’t think he has felt his heart so acutely as when he sees the Detective by the side of what he thinks is the closest thing to a best friend he has known since he has become an unnatural creature. What sick humor, to feel so much when he cannot allow himself to do anything about it. 

He is not a kind man, not like Nate. He is made of sharper edges, of polished steel that the years, decades, _centuries_ have done nothing to dull. And while that doesn’t mean Nate is weak, it means that unlike Adam, he knows how to turn off this sharpness, he knows how to smile like his heart is in it- how to walk like he doesn’t feel the press of the world on his shoulders. 

Adam loves Nate in his own way, but he is not blind to the jealousy that fills him when he hears the two of them, Nate and Detective, laugh at a joke only they are keen to. He is not blind to the bitter taste on his tongue when he sees the flush on the Detective’s face at a lingering touch, at a smile that is just a tad bit too heated to be anything but hungry. 

He knows and tries to repress the way it makes him feel.

It’s so hard when his own traitorous chest aches to be filled by smiles thrown his way; when he wants nothing more than to lay his hands on the Detective and touch until the itch on his palms goes away- until he knows that just because he is not soft, just because he is not Nate, he is still enough. 

But he knows that it isn’t true. Even his dreams tell him that. 

.

.

.

Sometimes when he dreams, he sees the way the two of them come together. 

Sometimes when he dreams, he can admit to himself that he wishes it were him instead. 

.

.

.

When he wakes, he will stare blankly at the ceiling and wait for dawn to come.


End file.
